The Story of Us
by Alexiah Rose
Summary: The story of Peter and Assumpta's night together in The Facts of Life, according to me. Because, really, that episode was such a massive troll.
1. Chapter 1

_SO, this is what happens when I attempt to write a story in which nobody cries (except the baby)! It was incredibly difficult. I don't think humour/happiness is my forte haha. But at least I tried. _

_It was intended as a oneshot, but I'm not sure if it feels finished or not... __Let me know what you think_!

_S, if you're reading this, I added a bit to the Trinity epilogue about Malachy's name, just for you :) xo_

**The Story of Us**

The door clicked shut against the retreating form of Doctor Ryan, and a bewildered Peter made his way back towards the kitchen, wringing his hands as he walked. His unexpected little houseguest had presented him with more worries than his weary mind could even articulate, let alone work through. The scene awaiting him in the kitchen, though, was enough to make him forget it all. Assumpta stood swaying from side to side, gently jiggling the baby while speaking distracted nonsense to him in cooing tones. The more than unusual image had Peter captivated, and he leaned against the doorframe to simply watch them. When Assumpta looked up and caught him staring, he quickly averted his eyes, praying that she wouldn't notice the colour rise in his cheeks.

'Beautiful, isn't he?' Peter said, moving to stand behind Assumpta and look over her shoulder at the baby boy.  
'He's lovely.'  
'What do you think his name is?' Peter asked softly.  
'I, uh... I don't suppose he has one,' Assumpta stuttered, disconcerted by the unprecedented proximity of Peter's mouth to her ear.  
'Well, we have to call him _something, _if we're going to have him all night.'  
Assumpta thought for a moment.  
'I... I've always liked Charlie, for a boy,' she offered.  
Peter looked at the baby, and smiled approvingly.  
'Charlie it is, then.'

Assumpta took Charlie into the sitting room and sat with him on the sofa while Peter made some tea. As she waited, she thought of all the reasons why this was an incredibly bad idea. Here she was, about to spend the night alone with Peter – with _Father _Peter – taking care of a newborn baby. It was madness, really. Everything about it screamed "Danger!". Assumpta's stomach twisted sickeningly and her ears burned with conviction. But, when Peter walked into the room carrying two very priestly floral china teacups, it all just about died away. She smiled at him as he placed her tea on the end table beside her. To Assumpta's secret disappointment, Peter chose to sit himself in a nearby armchair, rather than next to her on the sofa. He took a sip of his tea, and gazed at Charlie with a sad, rueful smile.

'I just can't understand how anyone could possibly give him up,' he said quietly.  
'Well, I can.'  
Peter raised a questioning eyebrow, and Assumpta sighed.  
'Look, I'm assuming the mother is a teenager. And she's scared, confused, alone. But I think, above all, she wants what's best for her baby. She's young, and she's frightened, but she isn't just thinking of herself. No, she wants her son to have a good life. But she doesn't think she can give it to him. So she has to give him up. Even if it kills her.'  
Peter gawked at her.  
'You certainly have a lot of insight into the mind of a teenage mother. Is there something you're not telling me?' he asked, only half joking.  
'I had a friend who fell pregnant when we were in school,' Assumpta explained. 'She came to stay with us for a while when her parents threw her out. I went through basically the whole pregnancy with her, so I got a pretty good idea of what she was thinking.'  
'That poor girl,' said Peter, shaking his head slowly. 'Did she end up having the baby adopted?'  
'She had an older sister who was married with a couple of kids already. The sister agreed to raise Clara as her own. But I almost think that's harder on Ailis than giving her up to strangers would have been.'  
'Oh, Assumpta,' said Peter dolefully, 'that's awful. Why does it have to be that way? If only there were more help available to these girls... Or, better yet, some proper education to prevent these things from happening.'  
Assumpta scoffed.  
'Don't let the Church hear you say that.'  
'Assumpta, I am the Church.'  
'Are you?'

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she watched their meaning register all too deeply on Peter's face. The question hung heavily in the air between them until Charlie broke the tension with a small cry.  
'He'll be getting hungry soon,' Assumpta commented.  
'Well, don't look at me! I'm not exactly, uh... equipped.'  
'Ha. Well, neither am I, despite what it may seem. We'll need to get some formula.'  
'Formula?'  
'Yeah.'  
'Oh, no problem. I'll just casually stroll into Hendley's and pick up a tin of baby formula. That won't raise questions at all.'  
'Nah,' said Assumpta, 'they'll be closed.'  
'Yeah, because that's the only flaw in the plan.'  
'There's a twenty-four hour pharmacy in Cilldargan. You can pick up a bottle and some nappies while you're there. And get me some chocolate.'  
'Wait, why do I have to be the one to go?'  
'Are you gonna let me drive the Javelin?'  
'...Yeah, I'll be back soon.'

* * *

Peter arrived home to find little Charlie squirming on the rug in front of a flustered and somewhat guilty looking Assumpta. It seemed as though they had rather hastily assumed those positions and were now "acting natural" for Peter's benefit.

'Hi...' he greeted them suspiciously.  
'Hiya. How did you get on?'  
'Fine, thank you,' he answered, placing his shopping bags on the ground. 'And what did you get up to while I was gone, may I ask? Not snooping around my house, I hope?'  
'What?' said Assumpta, looking exaggeratedly offended. 'Would _I_ go snooping around a priest's house?'  
Peter regarded her sceptically as she got to her feet and sauntered over to stand right in front of him, her eyes twinkling mischievously.  
'Anyway,' she said playfully, 'why are you so worried? Haven't got anything to _hide_ have you, Peter?'  
'No,' Peter gulped.  
'Are you _sure? _Nothing that you might find... embarrassing?'  
She was teasing him now, and evidently enjoying it quite a lot. Peter, however, was not enjoying it quite so much.  
'Such as?' he asked warily.  
'Such as, oh, I don't know... _six pairs of Winnie the Pooh boxers._'  
Peter's jaw dropped in horror, his face and neck instantly turning the most brilliant shade of red.  
'_Assumpta!'_ he fumed. 'You looked at my _underwear?! _How could you?!'  
'Ah, relax,' said Assumpta, waving her hand dismissively. 'Sure, I'll give you a look at mine later, if you behave yourself.'  
And she breezed past into the kitchen, leaving Peter to pick up his jaw off the floor while she laughed to herself at the look on his face.

'Bring me that formula, will you?' Assumpta called after giving Peter a few moments to recover.  
Peter dutifully complied, deciding it was best to leave that particular conversation to settle for a while.  
'Do you know what you're doing?' he asked Assumpta.  
'Of course I do. Go in there and fetch Charlie.'  
'Yes, boss.'  
Peter smiled as he went, thinking to himself that this was exactly what it would be like to be married to Assumpta. She had the most charming way of barking orders so that he actually _wanted_ to obey them. He scooped Charlie up in his arms and carried him into the kitchen.

Any onlooker would be forgiven for thinking they were looking in on a picture of domestic bliss in that small cottage kitchen. And, as he stood cuddling the baby and watching Assumpta prepare the bottle, Father Clifford allowed himself, just for a moment, to pretend it was real. To pretend they were his, this beautiful woman and this precious child.

'Okay, Charlie. Dinner is served,' said Assumpta brightly, breaking Peter's reverie. 'Do you want to feed him?' she asked Peter.  
'Yeah,' he replied eagerly.

So Peter led the way into the sitting room, and sat with Charlie in the armchair. He pulled down the rug that was draped over the back of the chair, and carefully tucked it in around the baby before taking the bottle from Assumpta. Settling herself onto the sofa, Assumpta watched Peter smile dotingly at Charlie while administering the bottle like a seasoned professional.  
'You're wasted as a priest,' she commented.  
Peter snorted.  
'Ah, if I had a pound for every time a woman said that to me...'  
Assumpta clapped her palm to her forehead.  
'Oh my God, I cannot _believe_ you just said that.'  
'Neither can I,' Peter laughed. 'I'm so sorry. I think I'm a little overtired.'  
'Ah,' Assumpta nodded knowingly. 'Baby brain.'  
'That must be it.'

They sat a while in sleepy silence, each lost in thought. Then Peter suddenly piped up with, 'My brother gave them to me.'  
'What?'  
'The boxers. My brother gave them to me.'  
'Oh. You have a brother?'  
'Yeah.'  
'Is he a priest?'  
'No... He's a doctor.'  
'A _doctor?_' repeated Assumpta, with a little too much interest for Peter's liking.  
'Ah huh,' he said flatly.  
Assumpta thought for a moment.  
'Is he a lot like you, this brother?' she asked.  
'Sort of,' replied Peter, really wishing the conversation would end there.  
'Do you have a picture?'  
'What? No.'  
'You don't have a single picture of your brother in this entire house?'  
'Assumpta,' Peter said bluntly, 'you are not dating my brother.'  
'Why not?'  
'Are you trying to kill me?'  
Ah, he was jealous. A satisfied smile spread across Assumpta's face.  
'Sure, I was only teasing.'  
'Mmmhmm.'  
'...So, what kind of doctor is he?' she asked slyly, and she cackled as she ducked to avoid the pillow Peter hurled at her head.

Peter turned his attention back to little Charlie, and, when he next looked up to speak to Assumpta, he found her curled up on his sofa, sound asleep.  
'Oh, bless her cotton socks,' he whispered to Charlie, who was almost asleep himself. 'Look how sweet she is, and how _quiet._'

When the bottle was empty, and a sleeping Charlie safely stowed in the makeshift bassinet formerly known as Peter's washing basket, the dozy curate stumbled over and gave Assumpta a gentle shake.  
'Assumpta,' he whispered. 'Assumpta, wake up.'  
'Piss off,' she mumbled, and he stuck his tongue in his cheek to keep from smiling.  
'I'm sorry. I need you to get up, just for a second.'  
'Nooo,' she groaned.  
'Come on,' Peter soothed, taking her hands in his and gently pulling her to her feet.  
The touch was enough to drag Assumpta back into the land of the living, but not quite sufficient to bring her to the land of the gracious.  
'You're an idiot,' she said, rubbing her eyes. 'You're a bully and a fink and a... Oh.' Her tone changed when she realised what Peter was doing. 'Thank you.'  
'You're welcome.'  
Peter smiled triumphantly as he arranged a blanket and some pillows on the sofa bed he'd just folded out for Assumpta. He continued to smile as he watched her gratefully jump in and snuggle down under the blanket.  
'You can lie here with me, you know,' said Assumpta from her cocoon. 'I'm far too exhausted to take advantage of you.'  
Peter gave a little laugh.  
'That's alright,' he said, settling back into his armchair, 'I'll be okay here.'  
'Have it your way,' said Assumpta heavily, rolling her eyes as she turned away from him.

* * *

One of Assumpta's newly discovered "mothering instincts" forced her, against her will, to wake to the sound of Charlie crying a couple of hours later. She dragged herself into a sitting position, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the near darkness of the room. When they did, she saw that Peter had beaten her to it, and was already standing with Charlie in his arms.

'It's okay, Assumpta,' he said, 'you go back to sleep.'  
Assumpta shook her head.  
'No, that's not fair,' she yawned. 'Besides, you need me to make the bottle.'

She stood and made her way into the kitchen, swiping the hair out of her eyes as she went. If she were any less tired, she might have been less than okay about sporting her bed-hair in front of Peter, but, as it was, she decided to let it go.

Naturally, he found it adorable.

'I'll feed him this time,' Assumpta offered, and Peter carefully transferred Charlie in her arms. She curled up on the sofa bed to feed him, and Peter watched them from the armchair, his eyelids drooping against his will.

When the milk was gone and Charlie was still unsettled, a strange and wonderful sound drew Peter out of his dream. Assumpta was singing a soft, sweet lullaby, and Charlie was utterly entranced. He wasn't the only one. Peter stayed completely still as he listened, afraid to even breathe lest it should make her stop.

When the final note faded from the air, Assumpta placed Charlie into his bed, softly kissing his little head. Peter let out a shaky breath. The voice in his head begged Assumpta, _Sing to _me!_ Sing to me, and kiss me goodnight!_ But Father Clifford had had a lot of practice at filtering his thoughts, especially when it came to Assumpta. The more rational part of his mind searched for something appropriate to say.

'That was beautiful, Assumpta.'  
'Oh,' Assumpta gave an embarrassed laugh. Though the lighting was dim, Peter could just picture her cheeks turning pink. 'I, uh... I doubt I'll be asked to play Madison Square any time soon, but... it seems to have done the trick.'  
She climbed back into bed, but Peter had just one more thing to say.  
'You'll make a wonderful mother someday.'  
Assumpta closed her eyes as the painful truth registered. Being someone's mother would mean being someone's wife. And that someone could never be who she wanted it to be.  
'Yeah,' she breathed, 'someday.'

* * *

It was about an hour before dawn when next Charlie woke, though it felt like only a couple of minutes had past. Peter finally gave in to exhaustion and discomfort, and stretched out on the sofa bed to feed the baby his bottle. Assumpta lay on her side and watched them. The kitchen light had been left on, lighting the room with a faint yellow glow. She smiled to herself, savouring the moment. Soon, morning would be here and this extraordinary adventure would be over. She would never have another night like this. She would never again get to spend so long alone - well, almost alone - with Peter.

Too tired to carry Charlie back over to his basket, Peter laid the little boy on the bed, in between himself and Assumpta. The child squirmed, awake but not unhappy.

'Maybe you should sing again,' suggested Peter quietly, but Assumpta shook her head.  
'No, I think it's your turn.'  
'Me? I can't sing.'  
'But you could tell him a story.'  
'A story? Don't you think he's a bit little?'  
'Sure, you're never too young for a bedtime story.'  
'Or too old,' said Peter pointedly, propping himself up on his elbow to look over at her. Assumpta said nothing, but merely snuggled down in the bed and looked at him expectantly, waiting for her story.

Inwardly, Peter sighed. This was all too much. It was more than he could take. Here he was, in the wee hours of the morning, lying in bed with Assumpta Fitzgerald and a sweet baby boy. His battered heart and his muddled mind and his weary body had lost all their strength. He no longer had the energy nor the will to hold himself back.

And so, in a husky whisper, he began to tell a story.

'Once upon a time, there lived a brave, noble and _handsome_ knight. From the time he was just a boy, the knight dreamed of serving his King. While he was growing up, he gave a lot of thought to how he might be useful. And, by the time he became a man, he had made up his mind.

'You see, the King had this very special group of servants, this valiant order of knights. And our young man set out to join them. There were many wonderful things about being in the order. The young knight was able to help lots of people, in lots of different ways. And he was happy to be serving his King.

'But the order also had a lot of rules, and some were very strange and very hard to keep. The knights were only allowed to wear yellow on Wednesdays, and they always had to open their crisps from the wrong end of the packet. But the weirdest and most difficult rule of all was that the knights were never allowed to marry.'

Assumpta drew in a sharp breath, her stomach twisting as she realised whose story this was. She looked up at Peter in alarm, but he kept his eyes firmly on little Charlie.

'The time came,' he continued, 'for the knight to leave home and serve the King elsewhere. The order sent him to the faraway land of Hibernia. The knight was very nervous to be venturing so far from home. But, as soon as his ship landed in Hibernia, his fears began to melt away. The land was absolutely stunning, with the greenest grass, and stone walls, and lovely buildings everywhere. And the people there were interesting and kind. It didn't take them long at all to accept our knight as their friend. Yes, the people of Hibernia were incredible, but none more so than their lovely princess.

'From the moment he first saw her – when she picked him up in her ornate golden carriage to save him from the rain – the knight was captivated by the princess's beauty. As he got to know her more and more, he became convinced that she wasn't a princess at all, but an angel in disguise. For nothing so exquisite could possibly have come from this fallen earth. Only, God was very clever when he sent this angel. He took her beautiful heart and bound it in layers of hardness and fury and sarcasm so that no one unworthy could reach it. But the knight saw straight through all of that.'

Assumpta stared at Peter, paralysed except for her widening eyes and quickening heart.

'The knight spent a lot of time with the princess; he couldn't help himself, though the other knights and the townspeople often disapproved. He was always searching for excuses to visit her court, so he could savour her wit and the occasional breathtaking smile. He even saved her, on many occasions, in the course of his knightly duties. Across the road from the princess's castle lived a vicious, fire-breathing dragon who loved to gossip and stir up trouble. The princess's temper was notoriously short, and she was forever storming off to challenge the dragon. The knight was often the only one who could calm her down, and save her from being flambéed by the beast.

'The knight enjoyed the princess's company more than anything, but his happiness was always tainted by the knowledge that he could never have her, not as anything more than a friend. The pain grew stronger as time passed by. Every day, the knight's feelings for the princess grew stronger, until he was sure...'

Peter paused, gathering his courage.

'Until he was sure that he was in love with her. Yes, he was so, so deeply in love with her, and he couldn't deny it any longer. But his pledge to the King's order remained, and he knew it would be wrong to break it. His heart was torn in two directions, and he didn't know what to do, Charlie. He didn't know what to do.

'But he did know this: that, no matter what happened for the rest of his life, he would always love the princess of Hibernia. She would always be the love of his heart, and the first of his prayers.'

Peter finally lifted his eyes to Assumpta's face, and his voice cracked as he spoke his closing word.

'Always.'

And they stared at one another across the yellow haze, both unable to move though they felt the world shifting around them. What was said could not be unsaid, and what was said... well, it changed everything. The pressure built up inside Assumpta until she broke away from Peter's gaze. She looked down at Charlie – peaceful, oblivious Charlie – in between them on the bed.

'He's sleeping,' she said, her voice barely audible.  
She scooped him up and placed him once more into his basket. Then she grabbed the empty bottle and took it into the kitchen. She dropped the bottle into the sink, and leaned over the counter, gripping its edges with white knuckles.

_What_ had just happened? Had she asked for a bedtime story and received a declaration of love?

_No._

Her head was spinning.

_I must have misunderstood him._

But... how could that be misunderstood? The hardness of heart, the carriage in the rain... and he'd looked right at her.

_He looked right at me. He called me beautiful, and he thinks I'm an angel, and he looked right at me, and... He loves me._

Her breathing was shallow. She didn't know what to think, what to do. What was the accepted protocol for love declarations from a priest? Probably to run.

But she hadn't received a love declaration from a priest.

Not from a priest.

From Peter.

Sweet, gentle, gorgeous Peter. The man who'd haunted her dreams, day and night, from the very first week. The one who was always there for her when no one else cared. The only one who saw her for who she really was. The man she'd tried so desperately not to want, not to...

But he was everything to her. Everything.

She didn't want to run from Peter.

She wandered back into the sitting room, where Peter lay on his back with his eyes closed. With some uncertainty, she leaned down and placed a lingering kiss on his forehead. The smile itching at his lips confirmed her suspicion that he hadn't been sleeping at all.

Assumpta walked around and climbed into her own side of the bed. She and Peter lay together, close, but not touching, glad to be near one another while the dust settled on the shift in their universe.

After a couple of minutes, Assumpta felt the warm pressure of Peter's hand coming to rest on her hip. Her heart rate quickened as he lifted her shirt, his fingers innocently brushing against the skin underneath. Feeling she should do something to reciprocate, Assumpta shuffled closer to Peter, laying her head on his shoulder. Her left hand grazed his abdomen before resting on his chest, where she could feel his heartbeat, strong and fast, through his shirt. Peter held her tightly with his left arm around her waist, while his right hand found its way into her hair, entangling his fingers in the softness of her locks.

Peter felt many months of tension drain out of him as he finally held her in his arms. Though it could only mean trouble in the future, right now it felt wonderful to have his feelings out in the open. Assumpta knew. She knew how he felt, and she was still there... snuggled up to him on the sofa bed, with a baby in the corner.

What an unbelievable night it had been.

Despite the sparks flying in every place where their bodies touched, Peter and Assumpta quickly fell into a deliriously peaceful sleep.

* * *

They were woken a couple of hours later, not by Charlie, but by a knock at the door. Assumpta groaned and nuzzled into Peter's chest, trying to hide from the world. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair for her to be ripped from his arms so soon. For his part, Peter was only too happy to hide with her, and he pulled the covers up over their heads.

A second, louder knock sounded, accompanied by an impatient shout of, 'Father Clifford!'

Nothing could have woken the knight and the princess faster. They both scrambled to their feet in a panic.

'Just a second!' Peter called to Father Mac.  
'You can go out the back door,' he whispered to Assumpta, who was already gathering her things. He felt terrible about having her sneak out like this, but if Father Mac knew she had spent the night... 'I'm sorry, Assumpta.'  
'Don't worry about it,' she said dismissively.  
The last thing she wanted just then was a battle with Father Mac.

She knelt over the basket to give Charlie a kiss. She took his little hand in hers as he began to stir.  
'Good luck,' she whispered, 'and God bless you, Charlie.'

She headed straight out the back door, but Peter grabbed her by the wrist. She turned back to meet his gaze.

'Assumpta...' he breathed, his eyes telling his anxiety as his hand slid down from her wrist to entwine their fingers.  
'Later,' she promised, squeezing his hand before turning to walk away.

The morning air was bitterly cold, and the future was uncertain. Assumpta had no idea what the day would bring. She had no idea what her life would be, now that the world had changed.

But she knew one thing, and that one thing warmed her from her heart to the tips of her toes.

She would always be the love of Peter's heart, and the first of his prayers.

Always.


	2. Chapter 2

_SO, let me start by thanking you all for your kind reviews! I've never felt so much fanfic love in my life haha. I'm glad you enjoyed the first chapter :)_

_Now, half of you thought one chapter was enough, and the other half wanted more. So, if you want more, here it is! If you're scared I'll ruin it with another chapter (which is entirely possible), just pretend this doesn't exist :P_

_This second chapter is a bit of a change of pace, and I'm afraid I didn't stick to my no crying rule! Are you surprised? :P But it should tie up the loose ends. _

_I hope you like it. Sorry if it's a bit cheesy! Let me know what you think xo_

**Chapter Two**

Assumpta leaned against the bar, staring absently over at a forgotten half pint on an empty table. Her hand drifted vaguely into her hair as she recalled the caressing touch of another's there just a few hours ago...

She had slept a little longer after coming home, her usually cosy bed feeling strangely empty and cold. Since waking up, she'd spent the entire morning trying to decide whether her night with the priest had been real or simply another dream.

It seemed very like something she would dream – the two of them being thrown together under some crazy set of circumstances; blissful, intoxicating hours alone at last, sharing in their own secret way of flirting; Peter confessing his undying love for her in a typically adorable way; and the chance to _finally_ cuddle up to that wonderful man, to feel his breath and his touch and the beating of his heart...

A shaky breath escaped her.

'Everything alright, Assumpta?' asked Brendan, jerking Assumpta back to reality.  
'Fine, Brendan. Just tired, that's all.'  
'Not as tired as Father Clifford, I'll bet,' ventured Siobhan conspiratorially.  
Assumpta's eyes widened in panic. Did they know? Did they know that she had spent the night with the curate? How could they possibly know? It _was_ a small town... Rumours travelled quickly... Probably started by that dragon across the road...  
'Did Father Clifford look after the baby all by himself?' asked Padraig, setting Assumpta at ease.  
'Apparently,' Siobhan nodded, looking both surprised and impressed.

Turning away from them, Assumpta smirked. She wondered what they'd say if they did know. If they knew what had gone on in Peter's house last night - how the two of them had loved that little baby like their own; how Charlie had helped them to finally be real with each other like never before; how they had lain together, entwined; how his hand had brushed against her skin, and his lips had brushed against her hair... How he – was standing right in front of her.

The door clicked shut behind Peter, and he smiled awkwardly, looking around the pub at everyone but Assumpta.  
'Well, if it isn't the baby whisperer himself,' exclaimed Padraig jovially.  
'You know, Father, I think you're the only man in Ireland who's spent a night alone with a newborn baby and lived to tell the tale,' gushed Brendan in exaggerated admiration.  
Peter shrugged. 'It was no trouble. Really. I like babies,' he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.  
'Sure, you're wasted as a priest,' said Brendan with a wink, and Assumpta tried unsuccessfully to stifle a snicker. Peter glanced sideways at her, trying not to smile.  
'Can I get you something, Father?' Assumpta asked casually.  
'Just a Club Orange, thanks.'  
Assumpta fetched Peter's drink while he endured more teasing from the three musketeers. When she gave him his change, he asked quietly, 'Have you got a minute?'  
Assumpta's heart skipped a beat.  
'Sure.'

Butterflies rioting in her stomach, Assumpta headed down the bar towards the privacy of the kitchen. But Peter very deliberately stopped when they reached the end of the bar. Ah. So this was an away-from-the-others minute, not an all-alone minute. Assumpta willed her face not to betray her disappointment.  
'How are you feeling?' Peter asked, avoiding her eye.  
'Not half as bad as you look,' replied Assumpta, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the places where his hair was ruffled from his hands running through it.  
'Yeah, I've, uh, had a bit of a hectic morning.'  
'Is Charlie okay?' she asked, warming Peter's heart with her concern.  
'Charlie's fine,' he assured her, meeting her gaze for the first time.

For a flickering moment, it was all there. The aching desire, the memories of the night before, the untold yearning for what had then been so close at hand... But it was gone in a flash. Assumpta recognised the slight jerk of Peter's head as he shook away his thoughts, and it was back to business.

'He's in the hospital in Cilldargan,' Peter went on. 'They're keeping him tonight for observation, and then he'll be placed with foster parents tomorrow. But what I came to tell you is that I've found his mother.'  
'Oh, already?'  
'Yeah. She's called Gráinne Quinn. Lives in Cilldargan. Have you heard of her?'  
'I haven't. How old is she?'  
'Uh, fifteen? Maybe sixteen. So you were right, anyway, about her being a teenager. And about her keeping the baby a secret.'  
'So you spoke to her? What did she say?'  
Peter shook his head regretfully.  
'Nope. She wouldn't talk to me. I got all my information from her brother, Roy, and that was hard enough. But I've just had word that Gráinne's been taken into hospital.'  
'Well, is she alright?' Assumpta's brow furrowed in concern.  
'Physically, yeah, she's going to be fine. But... she's in a bad way.'  
'Of course she is.'  
'The thing is...' Peter hesitated for a moment, choosing his words. 'She hasn't got a mother, you know, and her dad's only just found out about the baby. She obviously didn't want to talk to me, but I thought she might find it easier if she had a woman she could speak to...'  
He watched Assumpta's lips slowly part, and prepared himself for the oncoming protests.  
'Oh no. No.'  
'And I just wondered if-'  
'No way.'  
'-you might try talking to her.'  
'No.' Assumpta brought her hands to her face in anxiety and shook her head. 'Peter... This stuff – pastoral care, counselling, troubled youth... – that's your department. If she wants to drown her sorrows in a bottle of whiskey, _then_ you send her to me. But I can't...'  
'Yes, you can,' Peter encouraged. 'I've seen you. I've heard you talk to people.'  
'You've heard me rant and rave at people.'  
'No. Well, yes,' he conceded, 'but I've also heard you help and comfort and support people. You're good at understanding people. I mean, you practically catalogued Gráinne's feelings to me last night. And you have that experience with your friend... I really think you can help her.'  
Peter dared to lift his eyes to hers again, and he gave her his best doe-eyed, pleading look – one that hadn't failed to work magic on the publican in the past. Assumpta met his gaze with the stern, warning glare she always shot him right before she caved. He went in for the kill.  
'Please, Assumpta,' he said gently. 'If not for me, do it for Charlie.'

Infuriating man.

Assumpta clicked her tongue, and sighed her resignation.  
'Fine,' she sputtered, 'I'll _try. _I can't make any promises, mind.'  
'Thank you!' Peter gushed, slapping the bar as relief washed over him.  
'Give me about half an hour.'  
He nodded.  
'Okay. I'll meet you at the hospital, then?'  
'Mmhmm,' Assumpta committed reluctantly, but Peter had already swept out of the door.

Assumpta slumped into the kitchen and sat down at the table, rubbing her eyes. Her heart was heavy with the weight of her first encounter with Peter after what they'd shared the night before. It was... perfectly fine. It was perfectly friendly, perfectly calm... trademarked as usual by the odd lingering glance and the willingness to help one another. All things considered, it was completely normal.

Normal.

Well, what did she expect? That he was going to come riding in on his trusty white steed and whisk her away to some fairy ball in Wonderland? Stupid. Last night, he had his guard down. He'd let himself get carried away by their mad situation. He'd said and done things he didn't mean. And with the morning came the return of reality... and the regret.

And now things would return to normal. They'd forget all about the knight and the princess, and they'd go back to being the publican and the priest. And they'd add Peter's bedtime story to their long list of almosts.

Well, what did she expect?

She angrily swatted a tear from her cheek.

* * *

Assumpta surveyed Gráinne through the window in the door. The pale girl lay staring up at the ceiling from her cushion of blonde curls. They were impressive curls... Curls that looked like they should bounce, like they _used_ to bounce... But they'd been weighed down and flattened by worries too heavy for such a young head to bear.

Sensing that she was being watched, Gráinne looked over and met Assumpta's eye. Well, there was no going back now. Taking a deep breath, Assumpta pushed the door open.

'Hi, Gráinne,' she said a little to brightly.  
'Hello...' replied the girl warily.  
'My name's Assumpta,' said Assumpta lamely. Wringing her hands nervously, she cursed herself for being so socially awkward. 'I'm, um, a friend of Father Clifford's.'  
'Oh.' Gráinne rolled her eyes. 'I suppose he's sent you to convince me to keep the baby.'  
'No... No, Gráinne, I haven't come to convince you of anything. I just want to talk to you. Not even that; I want to listen to you.'  
Gráinne raised her eyebrows. 'That'll be a first. Everyone else is just so full of advice. They all want to tell me what to do. "Have the baby adopted, Gráinne." "Keep the baby, Gráinne." "Go and join a convent, Gráinne." They're driving me mental, the lot of them. Your Father Clifford included.'  
Assumpta smiled. 'Well, I can believe that. But he's only trying to help you.'  
'Why should he want to help me?'  
'He cares about you.'  
'Sure, he doesn't even know me.'  
'Doesn't matter,' said Assumpta quietly, more to herself than to Gráinne. 'He cares about everyone. That's just who he is... He has the biggest heart...'  
Gráinne almost smiled to see the dreamy look on her companion's face.  
'What? Are you sweet on him or something?'  
Assumpta laughed out loud. You can always count on a teenager to say what they think. An idea occurred to her...  
'Well,' she whispered, looking down at Gráinne with twinkling eyes, 'I'll tell you, but only if you agree to talk to me about the baby.'  
Gráinne pursed her lips.  
'I'm not a kid, you know.'  
'Oh, I know! Do you think I'd be talking to a kid about having a crush on a priest?'  
Gráinne gave a little laugh.  
'Alright then,' she conceded, 'but you first.'  
'Okay...'

Assumpta took a seat beside Gráinne's bed, and hugged a cushion to her chest as she wondered where to start.  
'Well,' she began, 'I suppose I am "sweet on him", as you put it... Actually, I, um... I care about him very much. He means a lot to me, you know?'  
Gráinne nodded solemnly.  
'I suppose he is kind of cute, for a priest.'  
'"Kind of cute"?' Assumpta chuckled incredulously. 'That's got to be the understatement of the century. I think he's just gorgeous. I mean, those eyes! Did you _see_ his eyes, Gráinne? They'll dazzle the socks right off you.'  
Gráinne laughed aloud at this, and Assumpta saw the youthfulness returning to her face right before her eyes. This must have been the first light-hearted, friendly conversation the girl had had in ages.  
'And he's so incredibly sweet, too.' Assumpta was on a roll, now. It was like the floodgates had opened and every secret thought and feeling she'd hidden away was just pouring out in this teen mother's hospital room. 'He's charming, you know? Really charming. And he's so smart, and deep, and he makes me laugh. And he's just... _good_. I've never met any man as truly good as Peter.' She broke off with a sigh.  
'Wow,' breathed Gráinne, 'Have you told him this?'  
'What, are you crazy? Of course I haven't told him. But... he knows. Well, I think he knows.'  
'And how does he feel?'  
Assumpta shook her head bitterly. 'Like a priest.'  
'So he doesn't like you back?'  
'No, I... I think he does. He told me he did. He told me he loved me. Sort of.'  
'What do you mean "sort of"?'  
Assumpta sighed, wearied by the memory and the hours she'd spent analysing it.  
'It was last night,' she explained, 'when we were looking after Charlie.'  
'Charlie?' asked Gráinne, confused.  
'Oh, um. Your son...' said Assumpta awkwardly. 'We, uh, named him Charlie. I hope you don't mind... It's just that we felt we should call him something, you know?'  
'Oh...' Gráinne looked away.  
Assumpta bit her lip. She decided to keep talking, hoping she hadn't lost Gráinne.  
'Anyway,' she went on, 'so, it was the middle of the night, and the baby was just about asleep. I suggested that Peter should tell him a bedtime story. And the story he told was about this knight who wasn't allowed to get married, but he fell in love with this princess, and she made him question everything...'  
'The story was about you and him?'  
'Yeah. Well, I think so.' Assumpta sighed in frustration. 'It's just so hard, because we never actually talk about anything. We just dance around it all and try to read each other's minds.'  
'Do you think anything will ever happen between you?'

Assumpta considered the question for a long moment. It was a question she'd always been too afraid to ask herself. But it was time to be honest. She owed it to Gráinne... and to herself.

'No.'

The word hung alone in the air, waiting for some sort of strained explanation to join it there.

'No,' Assumpta repeated hopelessly. 'I think Father Clifford and I are doomed to a lifetime of starry-eyed daydreams and trying to forget one another.'  
'That sucks,' offered Gráinne mournfully.  
'Yeah, it does. But enough of my troubles and woes,' Assumpta went on, never one to wallow in self-pity for too long. 'Now it's your turn.'  
Gráinne groaned.  
'You know, actually, I'm feeling really tired...'  
'Nice try. A deal's a deal.'  
'Oh okay,' she moaned. 'What do you want to know?'  
'Tell me about Ch- I mean, the baby's father.'  
Gráinne let out a long, low breath.  
'His name is Albert.'  
'Albert?' Assumpta raised her eyebrows in amusement.  
'Don't let the name fool you; he was actually very attractive.'  
'Oh, I'm not judging. I once dated a guy named Leopold.'  
'So you understand, then,' Gráinne laughed.  
Assumpta nodded.  
'So, this Albert; he was your boyfriend?'  
'Yeah. Well, not officially. We hid it from my Da... Albert's eighteen, you see. Dad would've said he was too old for me.'  
Assumpta was inclined to agree, but she didn't say as much.  
'So, we went out for a while,' Gráinne continued, 'and everything was great. He used to bring around CDs for me to listen to, and I'd pretend I liked them, because it made him so happy. It was cute.' She smiled. 'But the best part was that he listened to me. He made me feel important, valued, like someone in the world would miss me if I was gone... I always planned to wait until I was married, but...' She sighed heavily. 'I loved him, you know? He said he loved me. And I believed him. How foolish am I?' she laughed bitterly.  
'You're not foolish, Gráinne,' Assumpta soothed. 'You're fifteen. The world-weary cynicism hasn't kicked in yet, that's all. A boy told you he loved you, and you believed him. Why wouldn't you?'  
Gráinne searched Assumpta's face.  
'So you don't think I'm stupid?'  
Assumpta shook her head earnestly.  
'So, when Albert found out about the baby, he split?'  
'Faster than a mountainy man from a nice, hot bath,' Gráinne sighed.  
'And have you heard from him since?'  
The girl shook her head. 'I learned from a friend that he'd moved to Dublin, but I've heard nothing since then. So I guess he never loved me at all.'  
'He's probably just scared, Gráinne.'  
'Well, I was scared too. I didn't run away!'  
'No,' said Assumpta carefully, 'but you did hide.'  
Gráinne looked away, her pale cheeks flushing pink.  
'I didn't want my Da to be disappointed in me,' she muttered as a tear streamed down her cheek.  
'I know,' said Assumpta gently. 'But he knows now, and he isn't angry or disappointed. He's just thankful that you're okay – that you're both okay, you and the baby. He was holding him just before.'  
'What?'  
'Your da was holding the baby. I saw him in the hallway on my way in. He looked happy, Gráinne.'  
'Happy?'  
'Well, more like proud. Proud of his grandson. You know, I don't think he'd want you to give the baby up.'  
'Hang on. I thought you weren't going to try to convince me to keep him,' spat Gráinne accusingly.  
'I'm only saying... I don't know what there is to be afraid of now.'  
'It's not about me being afraid. It's about him. He needs someone who can take proper care of him.'  
'_You_ can take proper care of him.'  
'No, I can't! I'm fifteen. I haven't even finished school. I'm poor. I'm alone.'  
'You're not alone. You have your family... And me, and Father Clifford. We'll help you however we can.'  
Gráinne closed her eyes, fighting desperate tears.  
'I can't give him what he needs,' she stated through clenched teeth.  
'He needs love, Gráinne. And nobody else in the entire world can ever love him like you do.'  
Gráinne said nothing, but her breathing grew shallower.  
'Just hold him,' begged Assumpta gently. 'Just hold him in your arms, and you'll know what you should do. And we'll all respect your decision... Will you do that, Gráinne?'  
Slowly, the girl nodded. Assumpta squeezed her hand, and went to fetch the nurse.

* * *

Peter was sat in the waiting room, talking to Gráinne's nurse, when Assumpta walked in about twenty minutes later. He jumped to his feet as soon as he saw her – ever the gentleman... The nurse also stood, and both of them looked expectantly at Assumpta, waiting for news.

'She's going to keep the baby,' Assumpta announced. Then, turning her eyes on Peter, she added, 'And she's going to name him Charlie.'

Assumpta watched as Peter's face lit up like a Christmas tree, a grin spreading from ear to ear. He shook his head slowly in amazement.  
'Assumpta, you are a miracle,' he declared, stepping forward and pulling her into his arms. It didn't exactly fit with the policy of keeping his distance, but he was overcome with joy, and with a renewed sense of how truly remarkable this woman really was. Assumpta closed her eyes, breathing in the now familiar scent of Peter while he squeezed her so tightly that her feet actually left the ground. When he released her, he let his hands linger at her waist, gripping the fabric of her shirt, and he looked smilingly into her eyes.

But the spell was broken when the nurse stepped forward to pat Assumpta gratefully on the back before heading into Gráinne's room. A certain awkwardness fell over the two left in the waiting room, and each racked their mind for something to say.

'She, uh, she said that we're welcome to babysit any time we like,' Assumpta told him.  
'Well, that's great,' replied Peter, his smile still present, though somewhat strained.  
'Yeah...'  
Peter clapped his hands together. 'So,' he said eagerly, 'how did you do it?'  
'Do what?'  
'Convince Gráinne to keep the baby.'  
'Oh...' Assumpta's cheeks reddened. 'That's between me and Gráinne.'  
'Right. Of course,' fumbled Peter, feeling embarrassed.  
Assumpta decided to put them both out of their misery.  
'Look, I've gotta go,' she said, turning to rush out of the door.

'Assumpta,' Peter called desperately after her.  
'Yes?' she answered, turning back.  
For a moment, he looked like he might be about to say something... to _really_ say something to her. But then she saw him retreat back behind his shield of priestly distance.  
'Nothing,' he stammered, wringing his hands. 'Just... thanks.'  
Assumpta made no effort to hide her disappointment.  
'You're welcome,' she said flatly, and promptly walked away.

Wandering over to the door, Peter watched her go. He hated that look of disappointment in her eyes. He hated himself for hurting her, over and over again. Sometimes he forgot that his struggle wasn't his alone, that it affected Assumpta as well. In the rare moments when she let it show, she broke his heart. He couldn't keep doing this, not to her...

* * *

Assumpta was about two miles out of Ballykissangel when she realised that the car behind her was Peter's. Flustered, she tried her best not to look at him through the rear-view mirror. After reaching the village, she observed with a jolt that he didn't stop at Saint Joseph's, but continued following her all the way to the pub. Now appropriately nervous, Assumpta pretended she hadn't seen him as she parked her car and headed into Fitzgerald's. But he wasn't far behind her, and he followed her through the door a mere two minutes later.

When Assumpta finally met his eye across the bar, Peter said nothing, but merely gave her a meaningful look and led the way into the kitchen. After pausing to gather her senses, Assumpta followed suit.

'We need to talk,' spluttered Peter the moment the door clicked shut. 'About last night.'  
'Right,' Assumpta breathed as a dull ache settled on her chest.  
'Assumpta, I...' She watched Peter's eyes flicker around the room as he fumbled for words. 'I...'  
'Look, Peter,' she said, sensing what he was trying to say, 'I understand. You were tired; you were off your guard... You made a mistake. It's fine if you want to forget it ever happened.'  
'What? No!' Peter exclaimed, looking panicked. 'No, I don't want to forget it ever happened.'  
Assumpta stared up at him, taken aback.  
'You don't?' she said dumbly.  
'No,' he soothed, gently taking her hand in his. 'Assumpta, I meant every word I said to you.'  
Assumpta looked away, avoiding the intensity of his gaze.  
'Every word you said to Charlie, you mean,' she quipped. 'You never actually said it to me.'  
'Oh, God, you're right,' said Peter, realising it for the first time himself.  
He took her face in both his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes.  
'I love you,' he told her firmly, and her knees began to shake.

He had taken her off guard; that was for sure. And he'd taken her breath away. But it wasn't the first time. They'd had moments before when they'd been so close... But he'd always retreated, left her stranded, alone, feeling like not enough. So, as much as she wanted to, she was not about to melt into Peter Clifford's arms only to be left a lonely puddle on the floor when he remembered who he was supposed to be.

'I love you,' he repeated, resting his forehead against hers.  
'That's great,' she said breathlessly, 'but what are you going to do about it?'

Peter pulled back, and his hands slowly fell from Assumpta's face. She watched the pain mount in his eyes, and his face redden and contort with tears. He looked down at her in raw desperation and choked out three words.

'I don't know.'

And suddenly Assumpta understood his pain. For the first time, she thought – _really_ thought – about what it must be like for Peter... To have his heart torn in two directions, to be so uncertain of what is right.

'Peter, come here.'

She opened her arms to him, and he gratefully collapsed into them, resting his head on her shoulder. Wrapping her arms around him, Assumpta gently stroked his hair while he began to sob.

'Shhh,' she whispered. 'It's gonna be okay. I know it's scary now, but it's gonna be okay...'

Peter loved Assumpta so much in that moment. If ever she had a right to scream and shout at him, it was now. But there she was, holding him, comforting him... She was truly amazing. He didn't deserve her. He placed a single, soft kiss on her neck before pulling back to look into her face.

'We will talk,' he promised, sniffling. 'I just need some time to think... to pray. Get my head together.'  
'That's fine,' Assumpta nodded. 'Just... don't screw me around, okay?'  
'The last thing I want is to hurt you.'  
'I know.'

* * *

The next few days dragged on, and the only time Assumpta saw Peter was when she happened to be looking out the window at the just the right time to glimpse him walking by. She began to worry that he'd made his decision, but was avoiding her... which could only mean that things hadn't come out in her favour.

She tried not to dwell on that thought; really, she did. She tried to tell herself that he was just busy preparing this sex talk she'd been hearing so much about from the regulars. She tried to remember that he needed time, and she tried not to get mad at him...

But, when he finally showed his face a full four days after their last encounter, his reception was less than sunny.

Actually, it was more like nonexistent. Thinking that, after four days, it was probably Peter's turn to be ignored, Assumpta refused to acknowledge his presence beyond slamming Siobhan and Brendan's drinks down a little harder than usual. Peter winced. He knew he'd left it too long. This conversation was going to be more difficult than he'd anticipated. He began second-guessing himself, wondering if he should just leg it. But running from her again was hardly going to make things better... No, he'd have to see it through. Today.

He sidled uncertainly up to the bar, and waited patiently for Assumpta to acknowledge him. Eventually she did, when she ran out of other things to keep her busy. She just looked at him as if to say, _Well? What have you got to say for yourself?_ Peter nodded towards the kitchen.

As Peter closed the kitchen door against the ruckus of the pub, Assumpta noticed that he had something in his hand. A bag. A gift bag? Confusion and intrigue took over from her indignation.

'Hi,' said Peter anxiously.  
'Hi,' replied Assumpta, trying to sound disinterested. 'Long time no see.'  
'Yeah... I've been, um... I mean, I'm sorry.'  
'Well, you're here now,' said Assumpta, softening a little at how nervous he seemed. 'So say what you've come to say.'  
She steeled herself for the worst – for the _I'm leaving the parish _– but it was not forthcoming.  
'I have something for you,' Peter said instead.  
'Okay...'  
Assumpta reached suspiciously into the proffered bag.

And pulled out a tiara.

One of those kids' dress-up tiaras, with huge garish 'gemstones' and pink and purple feathers.

She regarded it, perplexed.

'Peter, what is this?' she asked, furrowing her brow, looking thoroughly unimpressed.  
'It's a crown,' he said shyly, shifting awkwardly on his feet, the urge to bolt returning stronger than ever.  
'A crown?'  
'...For my princess.'  
There was a long moment during which Peter held his breath, dreading Assumpta's reaction. But, as she stared at the crown in her hands, a smile slowly spread across her face.  
'Peter, you are such a cheese factory,' she laughed, shaking her head in amusement.  
Peter felt the tension immediately drain out of him at the sound of her laughter.  
'I am not,' he said defensively. 'I am adorable.'  
'Oh, is that right?'  
'Yes, it is. Now come here, Princess Assumpta.'  
'Aoife,' she corrected.  
'What?'  
'Much better princess name.'  
'Whatever you like,' Peter laughed, and he took the tiara from Assumpta's hands and placed it on her head. 'Now, Princess _Aoife,_ there's something else.'  
'Oh?'  
'Look in the bag.'

Assumpta reached once more into the gift bag, this time pulling out a stack of paper which had been folded in half and bound using a hole-punch and some red ribbon, to form a sort of makeshift book. On the front cover, handwritten, was the title:

_The Story of Us_

Below it was a simple. slightly sloppy drawing of a princes and knight, holding hands. It was coloured in and everything.

Emotion gripped Assumpta, stealing away her words. She could merely look up at Peter, her expression quizzical. _Did you really do this? _it said, and Peter gave a small nod.  
'Open it,' he urged.

Assumpta read through _The Story of Us_, reliving what Peter had said on their night with Charlie, and smiling at his drawings. When she got to the part where Peter had stopped - the part where the knight didn't know what to do – she could still feel more pages in her right hand. The story went on... She searched Peter's face in puzzlement.  
'Keep reading,' he whispered.  
Assumpta read aloud, her voice trembling.

'But, one night, a very special duty was bestowed upon the knight. He was given charge of a precious little elf, from a neighbouring land. The knight knew a little of elves, but not a lot. So the princess kindly offered him her assistance, and she spent the night in his cottage.

'That night, everything changed. For the very first time, the knight held the princess in his arms. And the stars faded to the greyest dust against the glow of his happiness.

'But, in the morning, the princess had to leave. And the knight felt empty, like a piece of him was missing. It hurt so much. He knew that something had to change, so he thought long and hard, and he talked to the king.

'And the king helped him to realise that he wasn't destined to be in the knighthood after all; he was destined to be the...' Assumpta brought a hand to her mouth as tears began to streak her face. 'The keeper and protector of the princess's golden heart.'

She could no longer read the words through the blur of her tears, so Peter finished the story for her. He didn't need to read the words; they were the words of his heart.

'So he went to see the princess,' said Peter gently, 'and he brought her a crown of the finest jewels – an offering of love. The princess laughed at him, but she loved it really.'

Assumpta laughed through her tears.

'And the knight took the princess in arms...'

Peter pulled her close.

'And he kissed her softly...'

Peter brought his lips to hers in a gentle, lingering kiss.

'And he told her how much he loved her...'

Assumpta knew how the story was to end. She melted at last into her knight's strong embrace, and she whispered,

'And they lived happily ever after.'

**The End.**


End file.
